


meet me in the middle

by kuchi



Category: South Park
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi
Summary: A pleasant evening, a terrible choice of snack, and some enlightening conversation for Kyle.





	meet me in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> i'm very ill and weak right now and thus feeling sappy please accept this

The wind whips sharp around Kyle’s head as he walks down towards the edge of the water. It feels like his ears are going to fall off. He probably should have brought his hat, and he can definitely (well, _almost_ ) see the logic in the mop of hair he used to have as a kid; in its protective qualities, at least. It’s March, but years of living in the city has dulled his intuition a little about how cold it can be in the ass end of nowhere, namely South Park. Stan is probably feeling the same next to him, his steps a little too bouncy from the chill.

Kyle had asked him to come down here, take a break away from both their families. Not that he doesn’t want to be spending time at home (he does miss his parents and especially Ike, when he’s in Denver) but there’s been something very Stan-related on his mind lately - for a long time now - that he needs to get out.

There’s really no reason to be out by Stark’s Pond in the evening except out of some sense of childhood nostalgia, which is usually Stan’s forte, not his. Well, that's kind of why Kyle wanted to come here. He wants to do this somewhere that the sentimental part of Stan will see the value in. The right setting will do half the work for Kyle - something he really needs, considering how bad he is at this stuff.

He’s not gonna _ask_ right now - of course not. But he wants to scope out where they stand. It’s been a while since the topic has come up, and Kyle has thought and over-thought every aspect of his feelings to a stupid point since then.

They’ve skirted around it enough. He needs Stan to know just _how_ okay he’d be with it. Marriage, that is.

Stan runs ahead, and he's already skipping stones on the water. Kyle watches. Decides to stay back. He's not sure his hands are steady enough for that right now, despite how nonchalant he’s trying to feel. He automatically opens the bag of chips he's carrying to keep them busy. Cheesy poofs. Definitely not his first choice, but he didn't really _get_ a choice. Ike’s been is back home too, on spring break, and he devours the snack cabinet with admirable speed. Kyle can't keep up with that anymore. He probably shouldn't be eating crap right before his mom's dinner anyway, but he rationalises it with the fact that he's on vacation.

So here they are, one of the few bearable places in the least bearable vacation spot. Kyle finds an empty patch of ground, brushing a few stones away with his hands. It's completely dry, uncharacteristically, no rain or snow in sight for the few days that they’ve been here.

Stan comes and plops his ass down next to Kyle soon enough, raising his eyebrows at Kyle’s snack of choice. “That’s not really romantic, dude. You couldn’t have gotten, I don’t know, strawberries or something?”

Kyle laughs lightly. “Oh, we’re here to be _romantic_?”

Stan shrugs with a sheepish smile, shoving his hands into his pockets and drawing them taut. “I don’t know,” he says, sing-song. “The sun’s setting.”

It is. Kyle swallows. 

Stan goes to stick a hand in the bag, but Kyle snatches it away, earning a flick against his temple.

Kyle ducks away. “ _Ow_. Dude.” But Stan’s playfulness does ease the tension a little bit. He offers Stan the bag for real now, and they sit for a while, just munching and watching the colours bleed in the sky. Kyle digs the toes of his boots into the dirt.

He can do it. He can bring up the fucking topic. It’s conversation; it’s _just_ conversation. (But it isn’t).

Stan bumps a shoulder against his. His voice is as gentle as the movement. “Are you OK? You seem kind of agitated.”

Kyle leans his head against Stan’s in reply, catches the scent of his hair and his cool skin. It makes him jittery right now, despite how the familiarity of it usually calms him. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

When Stan puts an arm around his back, he decides to turn, look at Stan properly despite the queasiness in his stomach. “Actually, there is something I wanna talk about.”

“Yeah?”

“You know... what we said before… about, uh, getting married and stuff.”

What Stan knows, and what they’ve decided again and again in the course of long night-time conversations over the years, is this: they’re fine without it. It doesn’t have any bearing on the fact of their _life_ together - this is the real deal, for both of them. How could it not be? They don’t _need_ to get married (though Stan really wouldn’t mind it), because what’s the point of complicating something that’s worked so well for so long? When they know where they stand with each other anyway?

Or, that’s how Kyle thought he felt.

He continues, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, because - well, I know how you feel about it.” He adds quickly, struck with a sudden apprehension, “Actually, wait- can you- can you just remind me? _”_

Stan’s brows draw, a little puzzled, but he rushes in as soon as Kyle says the words. "About getting married?" He seems confused at having to state those feelings again, apparently so randomly. “How I feel? I’d want to. You know that I would.” Kyle eases instantly, feeling equally stupid and relieved.

Stan looks down at the ground, a small smile playing on his lips. He continues, looking at Kyle’s collar. “And I know you think that it’s super outdated or unnecessary or _heterosexual_ or whatever -” He rolls his eyes with humor, but it’s betrayed by a tremor in his voice in his next words, and Kyle’s heart rushes because he knows that it’s not from the cold. “But I like the idea of being married. To you.”

Kyle’s aware that his heart has probably leapt into the fucking water.

Stan holds his gaze with earnest eyes.

He’s known that Stan has wanted to get married one day practically since they were twelve. Like a life goal or something. Rarely spoken, but it was obvious to anyone who knew Stan well. Definitely obvious to Kyle. He’d never doubted when they were kids that Stan would grow up and marry some girl and be the perfect husband, kids and dog and maybe even a picket fence. It’s just how Stan’s brain worked. Though he’d never admit it to anyone except Kyle, on account of it being, well, totally gay.

Truthfully, the idea back then had never made Kyle feel as jealous as he thought it would. It only created a certain distance - a mercifully stark sign that he wasn’t _supposed_ to be with Stan, in the end; a reminder of reality that would help cut the cord of his longing for however many days. Because that was one thing Kyle just couldn’t imagine for himself. It _was_ old-fashioned. He thought, as cleverly as any teenager did, that marriage was only designed to make people pop out babies while thinking about God.

And being older, still, it didn’t appeal. The nagging feeling in the back of his head told him that much: it wasn’t for people like him.

Well, he was too much of a realist, anyway.

He looks at Stan now. Thinks about how the span of the last four, five years could change his mind so completely.

He’s usually stubborn, he swears it.

Stan is still looking at him with conviction, and Kyle can hardly feel the pebbly ground under him, or the breeze around him. He looks at Stan’s expectant eyes, feels overcome with the admission in them: there’s something soft and something daring and something totally _unguarded_ in him, in a way Kyle only wishes his own feelings could be. Stan is nervous, but he doesn’t let that get in the way.

Kyle could _give_ him this.

He could let himself have it.

He starts, shakily, “I mean - I sort of know what you mean, now. I think I get it. It makes sense with where we are, and you really want to, right? And I guess it’s not like anything would really have to change, and, there’s tax breaks and all that, obviously.”

 _And, and, and_. Kyle wishes he could slow down the rush of words coming out of his mouth, but the way Stan is looking at him now, head tilted and eyes widening again, is not helping. “You know what I’m trying to say, right? It’s a good idea? Fuck, dude, help me _out_ here -”

At that, Stan exhales with a nervous laugh, and Kyle can do nothing but join him in relief. The pure joy in his face now is what’s enough to make Kyle stop in his tracks. He feels embarrassed at how he let his nerves run, words as superfluous as usual.

“Stan,” he says quietly now, pleading, because his brain jumped in too, for all the good it’s doing him now. “Am I making sense?”

Stan doesn’t reply, eyes still wide. Kyle dumbly offers him the bag of chips again.

Stan shakes out of it, digging the last cheesy poof out of the bag eagerly. He looks so fucking _happy,_ staring at it like he’s forgotten what you’re supposed to do with food.  

Kyle’s head is full of the words when Stan clears his throat, takes them from him, and speaks them for him.

“So, do you wanna marry me?”

“ _I_ was gonna say that part! Dude!”

For half a second, Stan looks incredulous. He falls backward, laughing like crazy, barely managing not to hit the ground.

“ _Kyle!_ Seriously?! _That’s_ your reply?”

But Kyle’s grinning like a madman when Stan comes back to him. They both are. Stan puts their faces close, hands resting around Kyle’s neck, the question still hovering in the air between them.

Kyle breathes in sharply. He can’t think of anything he wants more in the world right now. It's a punch in the gut.

Stan says again, softer, “Do you?”

The rush of affection flattens Kyle like a wave. He puts the bag down, opens and closes his mouth noiselessly before stammering, “Fuck, of course,” around the treacherous lump in his throat. He kisses Stan clumsily, finds his lips and his cheek and the corner of his jaw, over and over and over. Stan’s palms are clammier than he would have expected when they wind tighter around the back of his neck, and his cheeks feel hot cradled in Kyle’s trembling hands. Kyle blinks hard and fast.

He backs away, just to take in the sight. Stan looks elated, eyes sparkling. Kyle can’t remember the last time he saw an expression like that, if ever. He can’t imagine ever having felt a shred of doubt over whether this was a good idea.

He snorts, “Wait, you have something on your - sorry, that’s probably my fault -” and he’s giggling hard, and Stan is too, as he brushes cheesy poof dust off Stan’s cheekbone and the shoulder of his coat. “See, this _is_ really romantic.”

Stan only pulls him in again. “I love you so much, dude,” he says, still half-giggling, and he drags the back of his hand over his eyes with a sniff before resting their foreheads together. "I love you so, so much, Kyle."

Kyle wants to give him the whole world.

It’s getting dark. Kyle shivers, but it’s not an unwelcome feeling. The cold feels like a blanket of secrecy around the two of them now, bringing him blissfully to Stan and away from the rest of the world. He says quietly, trying to keep his voice even, “You know, getting engaged wasn’t part of the plan today.”

Stan smiles. Kyle knows that he’s taken those words for their true meaning: a declaration, of the sheer, exhilarating weight of Kyle’s feeling.

 


End file.
